


Go Get Your Gun

by paperiuni



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That last night before Earth, Tali creeps into the main battery. They tumble into the cramped bunk and try to make the most of those few irreplaceable hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Get Your Gun

That last night before Earth, Tali creeps into the main battery.

They tumble into the cramped bunk and try to make the most of those few irreplaceable hours. The ship slides weightless along the relays, Pax to Sondalar to Xiahu to Charon. When they emerge it will be to fight.

This in-between time is all there is. She crawls into his arms and pulls off her helmet under the refuge of the decon tent, strung out overhead like a blue-glowing insect net. In the light her face turns a muted indigo, her eyes pale slashes in the shadow of it. Garrus runs the tip of his finger down the skein of feelers matting her head, and their suede-soft, bioluminescent tips surround her like a webbed halo.

The tent is flimsy protection. Neither of them cares very much. Tali grasps his hand and kisses his palm, slow and reverent. When her teeth tug at the flesh and turn the caress into a tease, his sawing intake of breath is only half lust. Her suit, his clothes, are divested piece by article by seal by clasp until they're naked and entangling. He takes pains to mind his spurs and spines for all that she whispers, as she always does, "I won't break."

"I know," he mutters back at her in a gust of warm air against her ear. All the same he moves gently into her: her knees splay and close and they slot into each other, imperfect and deliberate. She slips her hands under his crest and around the back of his neck. Bent close, heads together, sweet, tattered noises building in her throat. No laughter now, no playful fight to drive one another to distraction, only the swell of desire and demand.

The crest comes wide and shuddering, his fingers burrowing into her hips and a stutter of sound cutting his shallow breaths. She still holds his head, presses her face against the dip of his cowl and lets her control unspool from her.

Not much later, the ship comm buzzes with orders. _Ten minutes to the Charon Relay. All hands, battle stations._

He closes her suit seals one by one, in an angled line up her side, as she is again sheathed in shielding tech and ceramic. She helps to latch on his greaves from heel to spur, then moves on to the breastplate fastenings. For a moment, her bare cheek rests against his armoured shoulder.

He drops his glove and lets his hand dwell on her head. There are a hundred scripts for the end of all things.

"Ready to go?" he asks at last. Lifts up her helmet. The seals hiss low as it locks onto her collar. Through the smoky visor, her face is silhouette and shadow but her eyes are steadfast.

From the gun rack, she holds out his rifle. "Whenever you are."


End file.
